


every small death

by dread_thehalfhanded



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, he thinks he's subtle, jesse is a forlorn little shit, maybe we'll find out eventually, psst he's not, what does Gabe think?, with a huge crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dread_thehalfhanded/pseuds/dread_thehalfhanded
Summary: In which a young Jesse McCree has an embarrassing secret and no one else needs to know.It’s fine, he’s got it under wraps. It’s fine. He’s fine.Everything is fine.





	every small death

Heavy field gear thumping uncomfortably against his back, Jesse McCree felt each step in the bottom of his heels as he got closer and closer to his own door. His boots drug his feet down, slowing his steps, his calves numb from standing so long. This fucking dorm hallway ran on forever, and of course his room would be at the end. Too many miles from New Mexico to Zurich—all that Overwatch tech and they can’t even drop you off at your own bedroom door. Ya gotta walk.

He tried to turn his brain off at least until he got inside.

_Dust, and hot sun, a deep afternoon near the grasslands. Sweat on the back of his commander’s neck, trickling, beading into the damp fabric—_

He fumbled for his keys, grabbing a little too hard, letting the sharp insistent metal bring him back.

_“Focus, kid, you get one shot.” That voice. Smooth, dark, harsh and efficient._

“Nice work out there McCree.”

Another voice came at him from down the hall, lighter, female.

Bleary, Jesse raised his free hand, barely looking. Another Agent, on-site tech. She’d sounded familiar, she’d probably been on the comms before at some point.

“Get some rest, you look like you need it.”

_Hot breath on his cheek, the too-close standing in the jet on the way there, the way he’d had to stand funny to hide the half-hearted tenting in his pants._

Rest, or something.

He realized he hadn’t responded, that she’d gone and she probably thought him rude, but it was too late. The door still hadn’t opened, and he looked down and realized he was pushing the wrong key into it. Fuck. He fumbled for the right key, slid it in, turned the door open, and slumped to the floor as it shut behind him.

_That huge broad chest, firm against his back, as they waited behind a corner. Barely touching, just enough that it could have, was probably accidental, the arm that came around and nearly held him as he almost stepped out a moment too early. Always watching, always keeping him safe._

His room was dark, the single window only just barely going grey with dusk, and the blinds pale and firmly shut. Jesse sighed and closed his eyes, and instantly images filled his mind.

Reyes. Everything was Reyes.

The sharp cut of his jaw, the grace of his movements, the curve of his thighs in the tight uniform pants, swelling and rolling with muscle—oh god, _Reyes._

Jesse slid the rest of his tack to the floor and buried his head in his arms. Fuck. No, no, no, there could not be any more of this fantasy shit, it wasn’t like he was some damn teenager, sneakin around with the local gang, playin’ with fire and sleeping his way up the command chain.

He was a fuckin adult now, with a grown-up job, and he wasn’t about to let down his wonderful amazing incredibly hot commander by getting a fucking boner at some inopportune moment. What if that happened in the field? He might have used to be some kinda slut, but there was no way in hell he was going to be that kind of disappointment anymore. He was better than that now. Got a real job, a real paycheck, real skills.

But, god, he bet Gabriel Reyes would look mighty fine riding on his dick. _Stretched out, flushed, moaning…_

Jesse let out a low-pitched whine and squirmed slightly lower against the door. You can’t just think things like that. It’s not okay, man. He rubbed his hand over his face and tried to think of something else. Basketball. Tacos, with any pepper besides chipotle peppers. Scrabble. The shooting range.

The image suddenly came to him of Reyes, stalking over him as he lay, his uniform half unsnapped and buckles jangling, as he leaned down and licked Jesse’s stomach with a predatory grace. In Jesse’s mind, he would keep licking, down, down, down, all hot breath and wet spit dripping onto his thighs—

With a frustrated grunt, Jesse slid open his belt and slipped a hand into his pants. He felt himself over his boxers. Hard. Aching with want.

 _For what, exactly?_ He asked himself, hoping the fact of it would shame him into sense. _What do I want? I want my boss,_ he thought, shivering. _I want Reyes_ —he checked himself— _Commander Reyes to shove his dick so far up my ass I can’t walk, is that it?_

His cock twitched.

_Yeah, real slick, cowboy. You’re disgusting._

His face burned as he slid his hand into his boxers.

This wouldn’t be the first time Jesse had indulged to thoughts of his boss, and he didn’t think that made it any better. The worst part was that he genuinely liked Reyes, he thought the world of him as a commander, as an individual, and the thought of associating him with anything as filthy as this rutting into his own fist was revolting.

But here he was. Again. Splayed out on the floor after a simple capture mission, still sticky with dried sweat from the field, and completely lost in the way Gabriel Reyes might taste if he could have him on his tongue, just once.

He imagined Reyes shoving his dick against the back of his throat as he struggled for breath, and began to stroke himself. He guessed that Reyes was big, probably at least as thick as he was, and he’d taste so hot, so thick and warm as he filled Jesse’s mouth so completely. He’d moan around it, give Reyes something to remember, something to enjoy, prove that he was worth keeping around.

Reyes had said something to that effect today, what had it been?

_Oh._

“McCree, you ready to earn your keep?”

He’d been kneeling over his rifle, serving as marksman this time, waiting, steadying the hum of nerves burning in his ears, when Reyes had alerted him over comm that the target was incoming. Five minutes. He’d swallowed thickly, keen on the rifle in his arms and the uncomfortably aware of sand sneaking under his uniform.

“Ready and waiting for ‘m, boss.”

Their men were in position. Reyes himself covered the only approach to Jesse’s perch, looming like a massive shadow in the abandoned hallway below. Always looking out for him.

“Good,” said Reyes, darkly, and Jesse had flushed a deep red, thankful for his solitude and the shrubbery he was camped under. A gust of wind afterwards and the crackle of the static too loud over the comms had kept him sane, grounded in the mission. An unfortunate choice of words for the time and place, but now—

Jesse imagined Reyes rocking into him, crooning, “good, good, _good_ ,” in that same exact tone of voice, just a little thicker, a little more gravely, and gasped a little. He pumped faster, losing himself in the image. His cheeks flushed, he crushed his dick in his hand, his breathing quickening. All he wanted was to let Reyes have him, hear Reyes tell him he was good, that he had done well, that he’d pleased Reyes, any way, any how.

He thought of Reyes’ hand thick around his neck, closing, squeezing, as he stretched him out, first with his fingers, then with an impossible cock, huge and swollen with heat for him, for Jesse. He rubbed the tip of his own cock as he thought of Reyes pushing into him, gently, the feeling of being entered pulling him apart at the seams. He slid his other hand lower down, and pushed at his own hole.

“That’s it, McCree,” said Reyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder in the transport back.

He had said it without looking, half-turned, but there was blood on his jaw, not his own, and he had stood so close that Jesse had nearly reached up to wipe it off. He could see the day-old stubble, a tiny shaving scar, the sheen of sweat, and the clench of his jaw as he turned back.

_That’s it, Jesse, just like that, you’re so good for me—_

Jesse’s hips twitched and he bucked up into his own hand. He thought of Reyes pinning him down into his own bed, hips flush against each other as Jesse took every inch of him, Reyes’ thick muscular thighs pushing his legs apart. Reyes would be planted on the floor, firm and steady as a tree, with Jesse spread out under him, hot and needy, bucking up to meet him.

At this point Jesse had licked his fingers and was sliding two of them in and out of his own hole, hips tight and insides curled around the heat in his stomach. He moaned a little behind his teeth, caught in the shame of it. Oh, he wanted, he wanted this so bad.

The slick of his fingers moving squelched in the silence, and he drove them in deeper, sighing, anything to cover the noise. It was too quiet, reminding him that there was only one body here when there should be two. Quietly, he let himself go, murmuring the name over and over, the name of the man who found him, the man who trained him, the man who wanted him. Even if it was only ever for his way with a gun, it was enough.

“Reyes Reyes Reyes _Reyes_ -“

Well, not quite enough.

 _Thirty seconds or less._ In his sniper’s perch, all of Jesse pulled into one single point of concentration: down the line of the rifle, to the place where his target would be. _Good_. He smoothed his hand down the smooth metal, his breathing even, the waves of adrenaline steadying, evening out, like Reyes had taught him. He was ready.

On the floor in his room, Jesse slid a third finger into himself, he felt in his mind’s dream Reyes’ huge hand lifting his hips off the bed, pulling him forward and onto himself. Jesse spread his legs as wide as they could go, making room for him, as his fingers plunged deeper and deeper, curling and stretching him wider.

He felt release rising, his gut tightening, and he rutted against his fist, hips jerking with it, seeing Reyes over him, enveloping him, driving into him mercilessly until his body shook with it.

The moment came. He shut his left eye and focused. Target locked. He let out his breath, and fired.

The target went down.

“Perfect,” breathed Reyes in his ear.

He groaned aloud and squeezed his eyes shut.

“ _Commander_ —“

And he came, white and hot all over his own fist, pumping quickly and desperately, lost in the image of Reyes over him, groaning dark into his ear, “so _perfect_ ”.

He lay for a moment, rapturous, blinking back to focus as the roar of pleasure faded. He lay there for a moment, legs splayed out with a wanton grace, both hands warm and wet around his still-twitching cock.

As he came back to himself, he became aware of his stiff legs and sore back, crumpled as he was against the door. Groaning, he pulled his hands out of the mess in his pants and heaved himself up. Everything hurt, his calves, his back, his ass.

His pride.

He flushed, wiping his hands on his pants. Needed to be washed anyway, couldn’t do more harm than what’d been done. Sand from New Mexico, blood from Reyes, spit and drying cum from his hand—seemed morbidly appropriate. He turned his face away from the mirror, and shame filled him.

Still, this was better than keeping it all in his head, lettin’ it get the better of him, he reasoned. Best to just work it out alone, take care of the problem, then maybe it would go away, eventually. He tried not to think about it as he washed his hands more thoroughly than usual.

_Knock-knock-knock._

Three sharp raps at the door, and Jesse jumped like he’d been shot. As if he wasn’t the one who did the sharpshooting around here.

“Comin,” he said, a little too sharp, too loud.

Drying his hands on an old t-shirt that happened to be handy, he pulled up his pants and buckled his belt in a hurry. He threw the shirt at the sink, prayed he didn’t smell like sex, and fumbled the door open a crack.

Commander Reyes, real and menacing, stood in front of Jesse’s door, stern, dark-eyed, arms crossed.

Jesse’s mouth fell open a little. _How does he know?_

“What are you doing?”

He made a small noise like a gasping fish. _He can’t know—_

“I, uh, was going to clean up.”

Reyes raised an eyebrow. (Jesse had not shed a single article of clothing nor removed an inch of dirt.)

“You’re not doing a very good job.”

There was a horrible moment of heavy silence, in which Jesse tried his best not to look horribly guilty, but had no explanation to offer.

“Gettin to it, boss,” he mumbled, looking at the ground

Reyes sighed, and passed a hand over his face. Jesse looked up, for the first time in their conversation, and realized that his commander was very, very tired.

“Just be ready for debrief in an hour. New time. Same place. D11.”

“Is that all?”

Reyes looked down at him with an even, unreadable expression. Jesse gazed up, suddenly unabashed, and tried to memorize the color of his dark and endless eyes.

“Yes, McCree.” He paused, and the moment stretched. “That’s all.”

He turned to go, and Jesse shut the door a little too fast. He leaned back against it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered to the empty room.


End file.
